Sharing Her: 10 New Erotic MFM Short Stories, page 12
I’m alone in the locker room, lying on the cold, hard metal bench next to my locker. I’m staring up at the ceiling, letting my hands roam up and down my body. I curl my fingers under the tight, cropped shirt I wear with the words MAPLETOWN TORNADOES emblazoned across in gold lettering.
I have a flouncy little skirt on, the kind that barely falls to mid-thigh, and knee-high socks with my athletic sneakers. I bite my lip, moaning as my hands slip over my full breasts, groping and rubbing my nipples until they’re so stiff you can see them straining through the fabric of my top. My pom-poms lie on the floor next to the bench, put aside for a moment of risky pleasure.
I cut out of practice a little early, claiming an ankle injury, just so I could sneak in here and have some alone time. I’m so fucking turned on and frustrated all the time. My roommate is always home, hogging the bathroom and keeping me awake all night studying with the light on.
I wish she was the kind of girl who went out partying, just so that I could get a night alone to myself for once. But no, just like every other classmate of mine, she’s so focused and driven in her classwork. That’s all anyone seems to care about around here: making good grades. It’s like nobody knows how to have fun anymore.
So, I am making time for my own little bit of fun wherever I can. If that means touching myself in the girls’ locker room, then so be it. Besides, I have to admit, I look sexy as hell in my tight little uniform.
I know for a fact that’s why Coach Scott Robinson, the tall, handsome former football player who now coaches the team here, always stares at me during practice. He just can’t seem to keep his eyes off of me, glancing over so often that I’m surprised the football players haven’t noticed yet. But then again, football jocks are always so dumb.
I should know. My high school sweetheart was a football player. Captain of the team, in fact, and I liked him so much that I almost gave up my most precious gift to him: my virginity. But on the night I intended to offer him that precious gift, he dumped me. Out of nowhere. Just because we are attending two different colleges. He’s only an hour away, but I guess that was just too far for him. I wasn’t worth his time.
But whatever.
I’m so over guys my own age now. They’re all so immature, irresponsible, inexperienced, and just flat-out not attractive to me anymore. I get hit on all the time on campus, but nobody, and I mean nobody, arouses my fantasies quite like older men.
In particular, two older men.
I moan, rubbing my clit through my damp panties, rolling my hips as I caress my full breasts. I imagine Coach Robinson walking in on me here, finding me spread-eagled and moaning like the little slut I am. What would he do, I wonder? For the sake of my fantasy, I like to imagine that he would find me sexy.
Irresistible.
He’s got to be at least six-foot-four, and I’m barely over five feet tall, and incredibly petite. I have to be, since I’m the girl at the top of the pyramid. I’m the girl getting tossed into the air to do flips. I’m the leader of the pack, and I’m good at what I do. Good enough, in fact, to get a full ride to Mapletown College on a cheerleading scholarship. That also sets me apart from my classmates, who are all here to study and become scientists, professors, doctors, all those boring careers that brainy people do.
I’m only here because of my body. The way I can move it, entice my audience, almost seducing them into cheering for my team. It’s almost as though every shake of my ass and swing of my hips begs the question: “Don’t you want to pull for the winning team?”
And in my experience, I’m always pulling for the winning team. Even here, at college, our football team is renowned in the region for being unbeatable. Unstoppable. And a lot of that is due to the expert strategies and tactical know-how of Coach Robinson.
He’s a genius on the sidelines. He knows exactly what it’s like to be on that football field, since he’s a former player. And he still looks the part. He’s probably in his mid thirties, but he’s way hotter than any of the guys he coaches.
I can just picture him walking up to me, his cock hard and erect, straining against the fabric of those tight jeans. He would look down at me with lust in those stormy gray eyes. I imagine what it would feel like to fuck him. It’s hard to imagine, since I’m a virgin. But I can try. I bet it would feel a million times better than touching myself.
I rub tight little circles around my clit, moaning and gasping as I imagine him picking me up and putting me on his lap. I can almost feel the way his huge, rough hands would slide down my body, groping my tits, grabbing my ass. He would rut up against my cunt with that big, meaty dick, both of us getting off on the friction. Just as I’m about to cum, I hear the clatter of footsteps approaching.
The team must be finished with practice. I can’t get caught like this!
I hop up and race into the locker room showers, jumping into a stall and quickly stripping off my uniform. I drape it up over the wall and turn on the water, my heart pounding as the girls trickle into the locker room, chatting and giggling among themselves.
Now totally naked in the steamy shower stall, I lean back against the wall and touch myself with no fabric in the way. I circle my clit again and again, reveling in the riskiness of what I’m doing. My teammates are just on the other side of that thin curtain, talking to each other and gossiping. I almost let a moan of pleasure slip out, and I clap my hand over my mouth while my other hand strokes my clit faster and harder. The danger of getting caught, of someone watching me touch myself doesn’t scare me like it should. I realize with surprise that it actually just turns me on even more. I rock my hips, sighing with bliss, now imagining the other target of my affections: Professor Will Byron.
He’s my English professor, the older man of my dreams. He’s tall and handsome, with kind brown eyes the color of warm cinnamon and a smile that could melt the panties off of any woman. He has salt-and-pepper hair, and he’s always wearing those sexy button-up white shirts with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, showing off his strong forearms. I just know there’s a sexy body underneath those clothes. I imagine him finding me here in the shower. Joining me. Wrapping those big arms around me and kissing me while he fingers my tight little cunny…
“Ohh!” I moan, gushing cum all over my fingers. The girls talking on the other side of the curtain stop for a moment and I hastily add, “Stubbed my toe! Ow!”
This seems to be enough to fool them. They go back to chatting as though nothing happened, and I smile to myself, knowing the truth. Damn, it’s hot to think that I could have gotten caught at any moment.
I wait around long enough for all my teammates to shower off and get dressed, then head out for the afternoon. When the coast is clear, I towel off and put my uniform back on, a dangerously tempting idea planting itself in my mind. I am so sexually frustrated that I’ve resorted to touching myself in the girls’ locker room. It’s not enough for me anymore. I need something better. Something real. Someone real.
Normally, I would put on my street clothes after practice, but this afternoon I have another plan in mind. A plan that requires this cheerleading uniform. I walk up to the foggy mirrors and touch up my curly blonde pigtails, making sure my makeup isn’t smeared from my steamy shower session. Once I’m satisfied with my appearance, I grab my duffel bag and head out, grinning to myself about my plan. I know it’s a crazy idea, but I also know that college is the time to experiment. To mess around. Make questionable decisions. After all, I’m eighteen now. I’m definitely old enough to make my own choices, even if they may seem like crazy choices to someone else. I have to jump on this plan before I get the chance to talk myself out of it. I have momentum right now, and giving myself an orgasm hasn’t slaked my thirst in the least. In fact, now I’m thirsty for more. And I know exactly where to look for it.
I check my phone and bite my lip, nervously sliding the screen open to see if I have any new text messages. My heart skips a beat when I see that I have a message from my favorite Professor. Will Byron. The text reads: I’m here in my office. Feel free to come by.
“Don’t mind if I do,” I murmur to myself giddily.
I text back: I’m cumming. See u soon.
I giggle, hoping that my innuendo sticks. It should. After all, Professor Byron is kind of the king of innuendo. He’s been teaching us a segment on erotic literature throughout the ages this semester, and he doesn’t back down from even the raunchiest historical texts. Hell, lately we’ve even been studying contemporary romance novels in class! I’ve never had such a cool, relaxed teacher before. And I have definitely never had a teacher that sexy.
Plus. he’s a total sweetheart. I first went to his office after class because I was feeling lonely and insecure about my academic abilities. I have always been the kind of girl to put my friends, cheer team, and social life before my grades. That’s not to say I’m dumb or whatever. I’ve always made at least a C in every class. But I can’t pretend like I’m some academic genius or anything. That stuff has just never mattered much to me. But Mapletown College has a strict reputation for high grades, churning out brilliant minds every year. So for me, as an average student who came to this prestigious, pricey private school on a cheerleading scholarship, it can be really intimidating. I don’t know anyone here, and even my own teammates have their own little clique, without me.
Professor Byron has been so helpful and comforting to me this semester, coaching me through some of the more difficult class material and convincing me that I am, in fact, smart enough to be here. He’s gentle and patient with me like no teacher has been before, treating me almost more like a friend than a student. At first, we only met up once a week after class to talk about course material and stuff. Then it was twice a week. Then almost every school day. We started talking about a range of topics: not just class stuff but life stuff. Movies, TV shows, traveling, food, politics. All kinds of things. He’s so damn smart, and it’s sexy as hell. And what’s more, he makes me feel smart, too. He has been a true godsend to me, and I think it’s high time that I offer him something special in return.
I walk up to his office, which is a small separate building. He’s so well-liked and connected here that his office is fancy and private, especially compared to some of the rest. Which makes my plan even easier to carry out. I knock on his door, taking a deep breath.
“Come in,” he calls out in that deep, sexy voice.
Here goes nothing. I open the door and walk in, flouncing just a little. He does a double take at the sight of me in my uniform, and I can tell he’s into it. Of course, he does a good job of covering it up. He gives me a smile and says, “Wow. I’ve never seen your uniform. I mean, I knew you were on the squad, but it was hard to imagine.”
“So, you’ve tried imagining it, then?” I ask coyly, taking a seat across from him with his desk between us. A flicker of embarrassment crosses his face, but he laughs gently.
“No, no. Of course not. I just meant that whenever you’re here, you’re so smart and articulate, it’s hard to remember that you’re also a cheerleader,” he says quickly.
“Cheerleaders can’t also be smart?” I ask, tilting my head to one side. I bat my eyelashes and bite my lip, toying with him. He rakes his fingers back through that sexy graying hair, scoffing and smiling. Buying time. Stalling. I know I’m making him uncomfortable, and I love it.
“That’s not what I meant,” says the professor. “You know I value you as a student.”
“I know. But um, how much?” I inquire innocently. He blinks in confusion.
“How much?” he repeats, frowning.
I stand up and walk over to stand in front of him, looking down into that handsome face while I twirl one of my long pigtails around my finger. “How much do you value me? Oh, as a student, of course,” I add with a giggle.
He looks utterly stunned, frozen and afraid to move. “Well, if you really want to know, you’ve become a favorite student of mine, I’ll admit. Don’t tell your classmates, obviously.”
I grin, pleased with his answer. “I won’t tell if you don’t tell,” I whisper, leaning forward and putting my knee on his thigh. He looks totally flabbergasted.
“Miss Peters,” Professor says, shaking his head. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
“You never call me Miss Peters. It’s Annabel,” I laugh. “But if you want me to keep calling you professor, I’m fine with that. In fact, I think it’s kind of hot.”
“Annabel, I-I think maybe you’ve misunderstood our relationship here,” he says, unconvincingly. I raise an eyebrow at him, pouting.
“Really? So you can tell me truthfully that you’ve never thought about me while you jack off in the shower in the morning? You don’t picture me naked when you’re lying in bed at night? Come on, Professor Byron. We’ve always been so honest with each other,” I urge him.
His jaw tightens and his hands curl into fists. I can tell it’s taking all his restraint not to reach out and touch me. I keep talking, determined to make him crack. “Professor, weren’t you the one who told me that the reason you teach erotic lit at the start of a new semester is to grab your students’ attention and make them stay interested?”
“Yes. I said that,” he sighs.
“And did you not tell me that you liked to make your students open up and come out of their shells?” I egg him on.
“Yes, Annabel,” he admits, staring openly at my tits.
“Well, this is me coming out of my shell. You said yourself that here at college, we’re all equals. You’re my professor, but you’re not my dad. You’re my… friend. I’m eighteen. I can make my own choices. You and I have talked a lot about some seriously racy subjects. But what good is it talking about Sappho and the innuendos in Shakespeare’s poetry if it stops there? You’re always encouraging us to think outside the box and think hard about our future. About what we really, truly want,” I tell him firmly. “And what I really, truly want is for you to fuck me, Professor.”
“Jesus,” he swears, shaking his head. But there’s a flicker of undeniable desire in his gorgeous eyes, and I know I’ve nabbed him. “Okay. I’ll do this. But I’m wearing a condom.”
“Of course. I’m not dumb enough to go bareback my first time, silly!” I laugh. I lean in and kiss him, softly at first, then harder. He moans, his hands holding me tight in place like he’s afraid I might disappear into thin air at any moment.
“And that’s not all,” I add when I break away for a moment. “I want an audience. I want you to fuck me while another man watches.”
“And who is this mystery voyeur you refer to, Annabel?” he asks, but there’s a lilt of playfulness in his voice. I pick up his desk phone and hand it to him.
“Coach Robinson,” I answer flatly. “He’s always watching me during practice. I know he wants me. He’ll say yes. Just call him and ask before he heads home for the day. I don’t want to wait anymore, Professor. I want you to take my virginity. Right here, right now.”
Professor Byron stares at me for a long moment, sizing me up, as though he half-expects this to be an elaborate prank. But when he sees how serious I am, he wordlessly dials a number into his phone. When someone answers on the other end of the line, he says, “Coach? Is there a chance you could stop by my office? It’s urgent.”
He hangs up the phone and I lean forward, straddling his lap and wrapping my arms around his neck. He still looks positively shocked by the whole thing, but I know it’s too late for him to back out. Besides, judging by the long, hard stiffness underneath me, I have a feeling he has no desire to stop. Only minutes later, there’s a knock at the door and I get up to answer it. Coach looks completely surprised to see me there, blinking as though he doesn’t believe his eyes.
He looks over at Professor Byron, shrugging in confusion. “Well? What’s going on?”
Professor glances at me, giving a nod. I take Coach’s hand and pull him into the room, locking the door behind him. I lead him over to the fancy sofa where I sat the very first time I came to this office to talk about course material.
“What is this?” Coach asks.
“I’ve noticed you watching me,” I tell him.
“Is this some kind of intervention or something? I-I never meant to make you uncomfortable,” he protests quickly. I giggle and roll my eyes.
“No, no. Don’t worry. I love it when you watch me. I bet you get so hard watching me dance around in my little uniform. It turns me on, Coach. In fact, I want you to keep watching me. Right now,” I tell him as I walk back over to Professor, who stands up and kisses me. I glance over to see Coach’s mouth hanging open.
“What the hell,” he mumbles, eyes wide.
Professor gives him a shrug. “Just go with it. This is what she wants. It would be a shame to turn away a student in need, right?” he says pointedly. Coach nods, looking like he just can’t believe his good luck. Everything is going according to plan.
I step away for a moment and begin to turn slowly, shaking my ass, rolling my hips while I feel myself up. I never break eye contact with Professor Byron as I dance, biting my lip and watching as his eyes glaze over with desire. I begin to strip out of my uniform, peeling off my top to let my bouncy, perky tits fall free. I kick off my shoes and slowly take off my panties, leaving just my knee-high socks and flouncy little skirt. I dance over to Professor, who is now sitting down in the chair closest to me, watching with rapt attention.
I bend over and grind my tight little ass against his crotch, feeling his hard cock against me, turning me on while I seduce him. I glance over to see that Coach is stroking himself through his jeans, watching us closely. That gives me a little thrill of pleasure.
Professor can’t hold back anymore. He grabs me and bends me over his lap, making me giggle with delight. He lifts up my skirt and smacks my ass, hard enough to leave a handprint. Hard enough to bring tears of pleasure to my eyes. I moan and wiggle my ass, urging him to do it again. He gropes my taut ass and slides his fingers along my wet slit, groaning with need.
“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he rumbles, feeling me up. I love the sensation of his huge hands on my body. He lifts me up and puts me back on his lap, straddling him. He kisses my lips, his tongue pushing into my mouth while he plays with my breasts, squeezing them and rolling my nipples between his fingers until I’m sighing with bliss.
